Three's a Crowd
by Pompey
Summary: A sort of sequel to "Pillow Talk," in which Watson and Mary try to enjoy their honeymoon in Southsea . . . but Holmes has a case. In Southsea. Multi-chap, humor with just a smidge of adult-ness. Based on a bunny by Kai and BCB. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Mary and I were enjoying the second morning of our marriage, spending the time in leisurely walks to take in the sights of Southsea. The salt air was invigorating, the temperature balmy, and never did a man have a lovelier companion on his arm. However, our idyllic time together was rudely shattered, when, as we neared the railway station, I caught sight of an all-too familiar figure among the disembarking passengers.

I stopped, frozen in my steps, forcing Mary to halt as well. "What is it, John?" she asked in some concern.

It couldn't be. Not here. Not now.

"That man over there," I managed. "Are my eyes playing tricks or is that . . .?"

She squinted at the crowds and then her eyes widened. "Good heavens! That is Mr. Holmes! But whatever is he doing here?"

Confound it, Holmes _knew_ Mary and I would be in Southsea! What the devil was he doing here? No matter how much he disapproved of my marriage I simply could not credit the idea that he would deliberately interrupt our honeymoon.

"He must be on a case," I said more confidently than I felt. I hoped it was a case, or else I could not be held responsible for my ensuing actions.

"Will you go up to greet him? I could not tell from Mary's tone or expression if she wished me to do just that or if she would prefer we turn around as though we had not seen Holmes.

"If I must," I replied, far more churlishly than circumstances warranted.

Mary gently squeezed my hand. "You might as well talk to him now. If he's come to find you he will do one way or another, and perhaps at an inconvenient time. If he hasn't we shall not spoil our honeymoon with uncertainty."

I felt myself smile as my spirits lifted. "My dear, whoever said women are illogical had clearly never met you. But I truly hope that it is the latter circumstance, not the former."

"As do I!" she uttered most fervently.

Thus bolstered, together we made our way through the crowds. About six feet from him, Mary dropped back and allowed me to continue alone. "Holmes?" I called.

At the sound of my voice Sherlock Holmes started wildly and turned about. I confess, I did take some amusement in seeing my friend so startled but his expression upon seeing me was chastisement enough. There was earnest distress written plainly across his features.

"Watson, my dear fellow, I had hoped I would not see you here!"

"You knew Mary and I would be in Southsea," I pointed out, glancing at her over my shoulder.

"I did, yes," answered Holmes, giving a brief tip of his hat to my wife, "but I meant for our paths to go uncrossed. I never meant to intrude on your holiday."

"But you still came here." I would, for the time being, overlook his using the word "holiday" rather than "honeymoon." The implications were not pleasant ones.

The detective smiled helplessly and gave a Gallic shrug. "You know I have a weakness for the macabre and bizarre, and this case has both. It is one of those so-called 'locked room' mysteries though in my experience there are precious few worthy of such a title. Nevertheless, the devil is in the details. Watson, I assure you, were it not for this case I should never have set foot anywhere near Southsea. I understand," he added in a low tone, "what this time means to you both. I should be a scoundrel of the lowest order to intrude on it intentionally."

I nodded, my relief undoubtedly evident.

"And now, Watson, I fear I am late in meeting Inspector Ronald at the crime scene and so I shall bid you both adieu. Again, congratulations." With that, Holmes hailed a dog cart near the platform and was soon rattling away.

Mary slipped her arm through my companionably. "There, you see?" she said gaily. "A perfectly simple explanation. Nothing shall blot our happiness for the next two weeks."

Alas, I fear she spoke too soon!


	2. Chapter 2

Mary and I returned to our room a trifle late that afternoon but we still had plenty of time to dress for dinner. She teased me lightly as we walked down the hallway about the faint touch of sun I had acquired on my face and ears when her laughter ceased abruptly. She had turned the corner before I and as I joined her I saw what had startled her. Sherlock Holmes was unlocking the door, directly in front of us.

At Mary's slight gasp his head shot up with a thoroughly horrified expression. "Mrs. Watson! I –" He stopped when he saw me and a look of dismay crossed his features. "I sincerely apologize again to you both. I had no idea this was the establishment you were staying at. I knew I should have asked Mr. Kendall for the name of a local inn," Holmes added under his breath. He finished unlocking his door with considerably more force than was strictly necessary.

"Mr. Kendall?" I could not help but ask.

"My client, the son of the deceased. I asked him to recommend lodgings; he gave the name of this place. As he insists on paying the bill I thought it ungrateful to question his taste. I shall do so now, however." As he spoke Holmes was rapidly gathering the few belongings he had unpacked and threw them untidily into his case. It took no detective to understand he meant to depart immediately.

Mary stepped forward. "Mr. Holmes, you needn't inconvenience yourself on our account. It is certainly not obtrusive to pass you in the hall."

He did not halt his hasty packing though he did glance at her. "And if it should become more obstrusive than that? No, I do not like to take that risk."

"Holmes," I sighed. "She's quite right. You needn't behave as though your very presence will prove ruinous to our honeymoon."

Perhaps it was my words, or perhaps it was because I was the one reassuring him. Whatever the reason, Holmes finally halted. "I swear to you I did not know you were staying here," he said quietly. "You have but to say the word and I will go."

I shook my head. "You needn't go. It is merely a coincidence."

* * *

"Do you really think he did not know we would be staying here?" Mary asked me back in our room, allowing a trace to doubt to creep into her voice. She had her hair down and she was skillfully plaiting it neatly for dinner.

"It seems odd, knowing Holmes," I admitted, fighting with my tie, "but he had distanced himself from all our wedding plans, as though he feared he might cause some harm by showing interest. I had to all but fight with him to get him to be my best man."

"It would have been easy for him to find our names in the hotel registry," she mused. Her brow furrowed. "And yet I cannot believe that he would be so callous."

"Then don't believe it," I advised.

Deftly my wife twirled her hair up and pinned it into place. "What do you believe?"

I sighed, thinking over my response carefully. Holmes was a marvelous actor and he had fooled me on many occasions. Even so, I did not think the shock and dismay he had shown on both occasions was feigned. It was too spontaneous and immediate -- he had been taken by surprise both times. Holmes may abhor the softer emotions but he was a master of tact and understanding when he so chose. Besides, if he wished me ill he would have tried to interrupt the wedding rather than the honeymoon.

"I believe it is just a coincidence, however suspicious it appears," I said at last.


	3. Chapter 3

_Wow – I didn't think this story would become such a Rorschach test ("coincidence or conniving"?) but it's kinda interesting to see who chooses which camp. _

After a good-natured but rather lengthy debate over where to dine that evening, Mary and I decided on the little restaurant the front-desk clerk recommended as the best of the nearby establishments. According to him, the food was good, the prices reasonable, and the atmosphere was rife with local color. We entered the room and were waiting to be seated when I caught my breath. Holmes was sitting alone with his back to us. At first I hoped I was merely seeing things but then he turned his head slightly. There was no mistaking that distinctive profile.

"This is really too much," I muttered. That he was staying in the same hotel was conceivably coincidence. That he was here in the same restaurant pushed the bounds of credibility. But then, how on earth had he known we would be here? _We_ had not even known we would be here until a few minutes ago.

"What if you asked him why he came here?" Mary asked reasonably, though her unease was plainly written on her features.

I paused a moment and then decided to do just that. Assuring the waiter I knew Holmes, I approached him. He had begun to turn at the sound of my steps but actually seeing me made him gasp out a low oath. Then he promptly apologized to the scandalized diners who had heard him.

Once assured that all was well again, Holmes turned back to me. "Watson, either you are following me or the hotel clerk has convinced yet another guest of the charms of this restaurant," he hissed just barely audibly. "I very much hope it is the latter."

"Yes, of course it is," I said much astonished. "I confess, Mary and I had considered it was you who was following us." I beckoned to her to join us and gave her a reassuring smile to show that all was well.

"I told you before, Watson, I have no wish to intrude on your honeymoon!" he insisted, though remember to keep his voice modulated. "What must I do to convince you of that – point out, perhaps, that you are the one who has been approaching me each time and not the other way around?"

Mary and I exchanged sheepish glances; Holmes did have a valid point. "So you learned of this restaurant from the hotel clerk as we did?"

"Indeed. I needed information and he directed me here."

"Information for solving the mystery?" Mary asked tentatively.

Holmes raised an eyebrow at her in surprise, then made a sweeping gesture at the empty chairs at his table. "If you truly wish to hear the details you are both welcome to join me. However, let me assure you I shall not take offense if you are only asking out of politeness."

In response, Mary rather boldly seated herself at the table and folded her hands expectantly. I could only assume she was at last convinced on Holmes's sincerity on this matter and was willing to make a concession out of relief. It was not for me to disagree with a lady so I followed her example.

Holmes sent me a quick smile. Then he was the professional detective once again. "The locked room aspect has proven to be a disappointment. The man did indeed expire alone, in a room on the top floor with an inaccessible window and the door locked from the inside. There were no secret passageways or holes in the ceiling. However, it was obvious to all from the first that the blow to the side of his head came from a fall and could not have possibly have killed him."

"Then what did he die of?" I asked, my interest piqued.

"There is some differing of opinion on that. The police believe it was heart failure brought on by natural causes. My client suspects foul play, and I am inclined to agree."

I felt an old surge of excitement that so often came to me when Holmes and I investigated a case. "What were his symptoms?"

"From what I can determine, he jumped up from his desk and tugged at his collar and tie to aid respiration. There was evidence of heavy perspiration and of vomiting. Finally he collapsed, striking his head on the side of his desk."

"I hate to say it, Holmes, but that does seem to coincide with the symptoms of a heart attack," I pointed out.

"It does," my friend admitted, "until one takes into account the particles of black found between his teeth and on his lips, and considers it took Mr. Kendall Senior less than half an hour to expire."

"Poison, then!"

"Yes, highly concentrated tobacco tar, to be precise."

Mary's brow crinkled in confusion. "How on earth did he not taste that?"

"Given the deceased's preference in coffees, he could have had creosote slipped into his cup and I doubt he would have noticed."

The picture began to become clear to me. "He swallowed the tar and then closed himself up in his study. When the poison started to take effect its effects were too rapid for him to call for help."

"Quite. The only mystery now is to find the culprit."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_What a suspicious lot some of you are! Holmes may be callous and selfish but he would never deliberately intrude on the Watsons' honeymoon . . . or would he? ;)_

_(And thanks, CG, for helping work out some of the psychological complexities in this chapter.)_

"Have you any suspects?" Mary inquired, her expression eager. I looked at her in some surprise; I had supposed she had asked Holmes about the case out of politeness, not genuine interest. Nevertheless, it was a relieving to see my wife did not object to matters of mystery.

"I have," Holmes replied. "Unfortunately the police believe that if Mr. Kendall Senior was indeed murdered, the most likely suspect is his son, my client."

"Mr. Kendall Junior?" I asked in disbelief. "If he is the murderer, why on earth would he not have allowed the police to believe his father died of natural causes? For that matter, why would he engage you at all?"

"Watson, you have hit on the self-evident points that the local constabulary are so quick to dismiss," my friend sighed. "It is true that Mr. Kendall Jr. has displayed the least incriminating behavior after the fact. However, he does appear to have the most likely motive."

"Inheritance?" Mary ventured timidly. "He murders his father to inherit the estate?"

I fear both Holmes and I looked at her in mute amazement. "That is precisely it," managed Holmes at last. "Phillip Kendall Jr. was the proverbial prodigal son in his younger days. After a few years he finally settled on a tobacco plantation in the southern United States and turned quite a tidy profit. Recently, he decided it was high time to return to England. Thereupon he presented himself with all due humility and was warmly received by his father, who promptly declared he would reinstate his son as full beneficiary of the estate."

"A tobacco plantation?" I asked uneasily.

"That is another point not in his favor as far as the police are concerned," acknowledged Holmes. "Especially as it is well-known that he has brought samples of the various varieties with him in order to see which new blend should prove popular in England."

Mary had grown pensive, her brow more deeply furrowed. "But if his tobacco plantation was already profitable, why would he be in such a rush to inherit? Had the will even been changed yet?"

"My dear Mrs. Watson, you scintillate this evening," Holmes said approvingly. "Those are the precise concerns I must address tomorrow, as I arrived too late to enquire today. Before my client's return, however, it was his sister, the household staff, and a local charity that stood to gain from Mr. Kendall Sr.'s death."

"And you came here for the local gossip in order to evaluate each of their motives?" I asked.

"Indeed." My friend seemed on the verge of saying more but he checked himself. I noted the bright mood that had come over him while relating the details of the case dissipated. "But I feel I have accomplished all that I am able to here. Good evening."

I watched Holmes leave with, I admit, more than a twinge of regret. I had made it clear before the wedding that while I would be happy to assist him with his cases, my time for such pursuits was going to be greatly curtailed. Now, I reflected, he was going out of his way to accommodate me . . . us, rather. I appreciated the motive behind his behavior and yet it illustrated a growing strain on our friendship. And, were I to be completely honest, it also illustrated how much I had enjoyed those mysteries and how much I was going to miss them.

* * *

"Are you so surprised that I find Mr. Holmes's cases interesting?" Mary asked as she took out her hair pins. I watched her unashamedly, having discovered after only a few days of marriage how fascinating a woman's hair can be when unbound. The sight, however, could not distract me from the subject at hand.

"Well, yes. I would have thought you had had your fill of mystery after the Agra treasure affair," I admitted.

Mary shrugged. "I find they are far more enjoyable when I am not immediately involved in them." She watched me in the reflection of her mirror, slowly unplaiting her braid.

I had not realized I looked troubled until her own brows lowered and she turned from the mirror to kiss me gently. "Jealousy does not become you," she cautioned.

"It is not jealousy," I protested. "It is . . . " I stopped, uncertain how to categorize the jumble of conflicting thoughts and feelings.

"Guilt?"

"What?"

"I saw how your eyes lit up when Mr. Holmes described the murder scene. You love those adventures almost as much as he does. I know you mean to give it up but I wonder if that is the right decision. For your sake."

"A medical practice, if it is to be anything resembling a livelihood, won't tolerate that kind of neglect," I answered stiffly. "And I do not mean to neglect you in favor of business either." That I had harbored the same concerns as she made me, I fear, more brusque than called for.

"I wouldn't resent it, you know. I know being a doctor's wife means watching her husband called from home at all hours. Who am I to distinguish between fighting disease and death and fighting injustice and evil? They are not so very different. Both are noble causes to champion."

"Marriage is no less noble."

"_Friendship_ is no less noble. You needn't avoid Mr. Holmes in order to be an attentive husband to me. Doing so will only make it appear that you are choosing between us. And I have no desire to come between such close friends."

I pulled her close and embraced her, burying my face in her hair and finding a simple comfort in the presence of a sympathetic human being. "It will not be easy to find the right balance," I warned her without raising my head. "I warn you now I am going to end up erring too far in one direction and then overcompensating for it."

"I know. I'm planning ahead for it. And I shall do my part and let you know when I think you are losing equilibrium."


	5. Chapter 5

Much later that night I hesitantly knocked on Holmes's hotel door. I had to repeat the action two more times before I finally received an impatient, "come in!" I was not surprised to see Holmes in much the same position as he would have taken in Baker Street: lounging in a chair, surrounded by clouds of cigarette smoke. The two concessions to his surroundings were the open window and the presence of ash and cigarette stubs in a proper ash-tray rather than whatever receptacle happened to be at hand.

Holmes's eyebrows raised as I entered although he no longer showed such violent surprise at seeing me. "Watson, you _are_ following me . . . but for what purpose I cannot fathom. I should have thought you would be in your wife's company tonight."

"So I was, and I will be again," I answered. "However, I felt I should make something clear to you before it grows too late."

His faced clouded immediately. I could already imagine his impending protest that he did not want to intrude on our time, that he was sorry for having taken on a case that brought him to here. Before he could voice these, I held up my hand and smiled reassuringly.

"I wanted to tell you that if you needed my assistance for the Kendall case, you have but to ask."

Very few people can claim to have confused Sherlock Holmes. At that moment, I became one of them. "But you are on your honeymoon," he said blankly.

"Yes, Holmes, I _had_ noticed that," I replied dryly. "Believe me, I do not mean to throw that over. But neither do I mean to ignore your presence in Southsea, especially with your room just down the hall."

I knew my words had given Holmes a moment of pause when he carefully stubbed out his current cigarette and leaned forward intently. "Excuse my momentary dullness, my dear fellow, but I wish to make certain I understand you. While on your honeymoon, you are offering to put yourself at my service for the duration of the case."

"That is correct."

"You made it perfectly plain before you left Baker Street that you would be concentrating your time on your practice and family," he continued inexorably.

I tried not to wince; that conversation had been among the stiffest and most uncomfortable ones of my life. "Yes," I said slowly, "and I still will not be as available to assist you as I have in the past. That doesn't mean I plan to disregard a friend I've had for over eight years. Nor do I wish to give up mysteries entirely."

Holmes's eyebrows rose higher. "Is Mrs. Watson aware of this?"

"She was the one who encouraged me not to give them up."

Holmes turned back to his half-consumed cigarette and relit it. I recognized that his actions were but a ruse to buy himself some time in which to think so I remained silent. "You are not worried you will be burning the candle at both ends, as it were?"

"It will be difficult to find the balance at first but trust my constitution shall survive until I do," I acknowledged with a smile.

Slowly he drew upon his cigarette and even more slowly let out a thin stream of smoke. "Well, if your mind is made up far be it from me to dissuade you. Thank you. " He offered me a quick, thin smile. "For telling me of this new development."

I understood. "You're welcome. Good night."

* * *

It was early morning. Sunlight filtered thinly through the curtains, enough to illuminate the layout of the room but not enough to disturb slumber. Mary curled up against me like a cat with my arm draped over her slim waist. She sighed unconsciously as I pulled her closer to me ever so slightly. I settled into a drowsy happiness, reveling in the simple companionship and mutual trust between us as well as the warmth of her body pressed against mine.

This little sliver of paradise was rudely shattered by an insistent knocking on the door. I sat up in some confusion and Mary stirred. "Who on earth is it?" she asked, sounding more put out than I had ever heard her.

"I don't know," I answered, tossing on my dressing gown, equally annoyed. "It may be someone in the hotel has fallen ill and the regular doctor is otherwise engaged."

"That is still presumptuous," argued Mary, but her grievance vanished at the thought of some poor soul in need.

Privately I agreed but it was not for me to ignore the duty to act. I only hoped the hotel had medical supplies as I had left my own bag in London. Upon opening the door I found my hypothesis was supported by the young man clad in the hotel's buttoned uniform. "Dr. Watson?"

"I am."

He offered me a _c'est la vie_ smile. "Very sorry to disturb you at this hour, sir, but the man was most insistent that this be delivered in person." The young man thrust a folded scrap of paper at me.

The penmanship was so strong and the ink so copious that I could very nearly read the message without unfolding it. The hand that had wielded the pen was Holmes's.

"If you wish to respond you may leave a message at the front desk," the young man offered. He gave a quick bow and left the doorway.

"What was that all about?" asked my wife, venturing from the little nest of blankets and bedclothes to look at the still-unread message.

I glanced at the slip of paper. "It seems Holmes has taken me at my word."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_My gosh, I've neglected this! No fear -- there is more to come!_

With a sigh and more than a little trepidation, I unfolded the message. Mary watched me, equally anxious. Finally I smiled, lightly tossed Holmes's note aside and returned to bed. I did not bother to remove my dressing gown, instead collapsing on top of the tangled covers and drew my wife close.

She allowed my advances but would not be deterred from her curiosity. "Well?" she prompted.

"If I don't receive another message from Holmes by 3:30 this afternoon then he requires nothing of me, or us, today and he will see us at dinner. Provided we wish to continue to hear about his case," I finished, paraphrasing Holmes's words with a faint laugh that Mary echoed.

"How could we not wish to hear about the case?" she asked rhetorically. "But how will he send word? Are we to wait in our rooms until 3:30?"

I paused. "I don't know," I finally admitted. "I shouldn't think so . . ." Holmes's requests could be perfunctory but they were not usually quite that inconveniencing. Here, then, was my first test in balancing all factors. To ignore Holmes's note might mean throwing off his investigation, however slightly. To wait about the hotel until the afternoon was nearly spent for a message that might never come was out-putting in the extreme.

"I propose," I said slowly, "that we spent the morning in whatever pursuits we wish, wherever they may take us. At noon we shall return and see if Holmes has left any word. If he has not, I am not opposed to waiting here after lunch until 3:30. You need not wait with me if you'd rather not," I added. "By 3:30 we shall know one way or another, and the rest of the day shall be ours."

"That seems a reasonable compromise," Mary agreed, yawning. "But given that it is barely seven in the morning, the only pursuit that interests me right now is resuming sleep."

I could not agree more.

* * *

We did eventually rise and go out to seek the sights. Given the short time available to us and the continuing pleasant weather, we chose to wander about the town and take in the sights. It was not a large place, though the natives certainly took pride in their seaside flora. Even the smallest home had late-flowering shrubs and autumnal borders.

We returned to the hotel in time for a slightly late luncheon, where there was indeed a message from Holmes waiting for me. Surprisingly, it was effusive – for Holmes, that is. It read:

_I would be much obliged if you would stop by the Care for the Families of Victims of Sea Charity and discover how much the director knows of Kendall's will. _

_A married couple interested in donating may be less suspicious than one man alone. _

_- S. H. _

I knew the second sentence was included more as a concession to my new married life than for its practical merit. Nevertheless, the gesture was very much appreciated. Then, too, I was relieved I would 

not be forced to wait on tenderhooks for half the afternoon until Holmes to decide he needed my assistance today.

When compared to other investigations Holmes has sent me on, this one was a downright pleasure. The charity was not far from the hotel; in fact, it was on one of the streets we had walked down this morning so we were already familiar with it. Rather than breeding contempt, we noticed hitherto overlooked bits of beauty along the way. And with the cool sea breezes balancing the warmth of the afternoon sun, it was very much an agreeable excursion.

Mary gripped my arm with some trepidation as we approached the facility's door. "What shall we say?" she asked.

"We shall stick to the truth," I explained, pausing before I knocked. "We are on sightseeing on our honeymoon and are interested in knowing more about the charity."

"But that has nothing to do with the late Mr. Kendall's will," protested she.

"Precisely," I replied. "We shall wait to steer the conversation in that direction. If he has anything to hide, it would not do to put him on his guard from the first." Mary nodded though she continued to look worried even as we were led to meet the charity's director, Mr. Drury.

Mr. Drury was a wizened little man with tufts of white hair and a scraggly little white goatee who stammered out his delight at seeing new faces in the town. "Newlyweds!" he chortled, patting my wife's hand. "How wonderful! Congratulations, my dear! Oh, and to you also, sir!" he added, wringing my hand. "So, you wish to know more about our little charity?"

"If it is not an imposition," Mary agreed, offering him a shy smile.

"Not at all, not at all," said he immediately. "My time is not as occupied as I might wish."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I replied, with what I hoped was sympathy and concern.

Mr. Drury shrugged sadly. "We are not the only charity on the coast dedicated to helping the families left behind when their menfolk are lost at sea. It is our misfortune that we are the smallest, locally speaking."

Before I could speak, Mary broke in, her tender heart clearly touched. "But surely, with so many families relying on the sea here, such a charity would be of the highest priority."

"Oh, bless you, my dear," he sighed, "I would that it were. It is certainly on the minds of locals, never doubt that, but words are far easier to give than coins. I confess I have learned that the hard way."

"That's rather reprehensible of them," I opinioned.

He shrugged again with a tired smile. "It is not always within their abilities to follow through with their promises. I cannot fault them for extenuating circumstances. When one reaches my age, young man, one learns to be more forgiving and be grateful for what one does receive. Ah, but I have shared enough of my troubles. Come, let me show you and your wife the building."

No more information about the financial situation at Care for the Families of Victims of Sea Charity, although by the end of the interview Mary and I were well-informed about the charity itself, the hazards of the sea, and the hardships faced by so many of the widows and orphans. Before we left, I pressed a few coins into Mr. Drury's hand for the charity. I had my hand thoroughly wrung again by way of reward, and the elderly gentleman saw us off with a wreath of smiles and a repetition of congratulations.

The air had grown warmer and we walked a trifle more slowly than we had on the previous trip. "That was well done, Mary," I complimented as we walked.

"Was it?" she asked. "We weren't able to discover much of use to Mr. Holmes."

"We discovered Mr. Drury has neither the physical nor mental strength to kill anyone, I should say," answered I. "I don't know if he is even aware of Mr. Kendall's will. If not, neither he nor anyone else at that charity has any motive to kill Mr. Kendall. Therefore, we can discount the charity and all of its employees as suspects."


	7. Chapter 7

By all appearances, Holmes listened inattentively to the summary of our time spent at the Care for the Families of Victims of Sea Charity. He did, however, nod briefly when I opinioned that Mr. Drury and the others at the charity were unaware of Mr. Kendall's will and were innocent of murder.

"Yes, I had little doubt of their innocence from the first," he commented off-hand.

"What?" I was stung by the implications that not only I but also Mary had been sent on an undertaking that had no practical bearing on solving the mystery. When I had told Holmes I was willing to assist him on the case during my honeymoon, I had presumed my assistance would be put to good use.

"Then why did you send us there?" Mary asked slowly and uneasily.

Holmes took in our shocked countenances and immediately assumed his most placating demeanor. "Because I have been wrong in the past," he said gently, more to my wife than to me. "Believing the easiest or most convenient solution instead of searching out the truth is a trap the police too often fall into. I had to be sure of their innocence, no matter how long the shot. Meanwhile, I have been gathering the net about my suspect."

"Last night, you never did tell us who your suspect is," I pointed out, my irritation slowly dissipating.

"I had three last night," admitted Holmes. "I could easily discount the others persons in the drama – but I am following in your footsteps, Watson, by telling the tale wrong-end first.

"Remember, my client's father was murdered by poison in his coffee. Therefore, his murderer was not only in the house that evening but also had direct access to his coffee. The late Mr. Kendall took his coffee as he took his cigars – that is, strong to a fault; so strong, in fact, that coffee was brewed separately especially for him. Mrs. Bennet, the cook, brewed the coffee that evening. The maid, Charity Wilson, delivered it to the table. Miss Kendall poured."

"You are saying the murderer is a woman?" I asked.

Holmes shrugged. "Which author was it who said the female of the species is deadlier than the male? Poison is a woman's weapon, after all. It takes no physical strength to use and keeps its user's hands free of blood, literally if not figuratively. My apologies for being so blunt, Mrs. Watson," he said in response to Mary's aghast expression, "but in my line of work one cannot afford to trust to chivalrous instincts."

"That is quite all right," she said faintly but stoutly.

She was rewarded with a lightening-strike of a smile from my friend before he went on. "Each had a motive. The older servants remember my client as he was, a wild terror with no controlling him and were agreeably taken aback with his transformation. Meanwhile, his late father had grown more cantankerous with age. Mr. Kendall Sr. never did announce to the staff his intentions to change his will; the maid Charity overheard him speaking to my client about." Holmes paused to make sure we were following this train of thought, then continued.

"Miss Leticia Kendall had taken over as chatelaine of the household, but also played the role of caretaker to her father. She professes joy at her brother's return, though she has reproached him for 

not doing so sooner. She had heard that her father meant to change his will but attributed it to servants' gossip and took little notice of it."

"Was the will changed before he died?" I could not help but interrupt.

"It was not," Holmes answered significantly. "The solicitor had drawn up the new will but Mr. Kendall Sr. had yet to sign it. Also of interest is this: despite having an abundance of strong, fire-cured tobacco about the premise, not a single leaf of my client's blends were touched. However, a box of his father's preferred cigars has disappeared without a trace."

"Is that where the tar came from? Mr. Kendall's own cigars?" Mary queried. She sounded horrified by the thought and I did not blame her. Poison was bad enough; that the poison was garnered from his own possessions was a macabre touch indeed.

The detective raised an eyebrow. "Precisely. The tobacco within was removed and stewed in water. Then the brew was allowed to cook down until the tar and oils were rendered. Thereafter, the tools were disassembled and hidden inexpertly in the back of the garden."

"But you know who the murderer is?" I pressed.

"I believe I do. It is merely a matter of obtaining one final bit of evidence." Holmes took on an expression I was all too familiar with; there would be no more information about the case tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

_This chapter is especially for BCB and Kai – yes, THIS is that bunny you've been waiting for. It's not exactly how you imagined it but I thought I should spare them all a few blushes. _

_And for everyone else, this is the raciest chapter in the story but I tried to leave things mostly to the imagination._

* * *

I could feel the bite of Mary's nails on my back but only peripherally, as I was far more occupied by other sensations. There was a soft, delighted smile on her face that was no doubt mirrored on my own. Then her fingers tightened their grip even as mine dug into the sheet and mattress. Mary flung back her head and –

there was a frantic, staccato banging on the door.

For a moment we both froze. A wave of acute irritation swept over me, which was only partly assurged when I heard my name and title being called urgently. I repressed a few less-than-charitable words for the sake of my wife and hurriedly rose to scramble into some clothing.

"Duty calls once again," Mary reflected aloud, drawing the blankets around her. To her credit, she did not sound bitter, merely put out. I personally was more than put out by the interruption and only by repeating certain phrases from the Hippocratic Oath did I manage to not cast aspersions on the person thumping so frantically on the door.

I did not speak once I answered the door. The trembling man whom I recognized as the hotel manager gave me no time. He seized my arm and dragged me bodily out into the hallway. "Dr. Watson, I cannot apologize enough for this intrusion but it is in fact an emergency!" he whispered.

"What has happened?" I asked, also in a whisper. I realized I had no idea how late it was but I did not wish to disturb any other people if at all possible.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes has taken gravely ill and our own doctor is seeing to another guest at the moment. I knew, of course, that you were here as well and seeing that you are his friend as well as physician –"

"Of course," I said immediately. My residual anger was replaced with concern. Holmes's illness might have been a monstrous coincidence but given that his current case involved poison, I had grave doubts.

He had not been left unattended, I was glad to see, although the terrified boy in buttons watching over my friend was little more than useless. I spared him only a cursory glance, as my attention was arrested by the sight of my patient.

Holmes was spread across the carpet, his pale face flushed and every limb shivering and spasming. His head was thrown back and to my uneasy I could see white foam flecking his lips. Immediately I was at his side. My horror grew when I perceived black flecks in the foam, on his lips, and on his teeth. I could not but help draw a parallel between the death of Mr. Kendall and my poor friend.

He was not yet choking and I seized his wrist to determine how badly his heart was racing. To my shock, I found his pulse quite normal. Slightly elevated, perhaps, but otherwise nothing untoward. This defied logic. A man with a fever will have an aberration in pulse. Then again, the wrist I held was not as warm as the appearance of Holmes's face would have led me to believe. A hand to his forehead confirmed that while he was indeed flushed, there was no raging fever. Moreover there was an odor of coffee about him, but none of tobacco, not even his usual shag.

"Holmes?" I called, testing his responsiveness.

His eyes snapped open and fixed on mine. He grimaced faintly and half-flailing his arm, brought a finger over his mouth, indicating silence. Then his eyebrows raised in a plea.

Against my better judgment, I turned and reported to the alarmed hotel manager that it was merely an epileptic fit, that would pass, no cause for alarm, etc. etc. The manager still looked apprehensive as I guided him out the door but I promised him a full explanation later on. That done, I turned to the Holmes, who had made a miraculous cure and was now on his feet.

"What in God's name are you about, Holmes?" I hissed, rather than shouted for fear of being overheard.

He held up a hand for me to be patient, calmly spat a mouthful of the black-flecked foam into the basin and proceeded to rinse his mouth out with water. "Coffee grounds and an egg white beaten into a tumbler of soda water," he explained. "Vile stuff, but highly effective, wouldn't you say?"

"And the fever?" was all I could think to ask.

"Essence of rosemary, recommended to me by the local apothecary. Also effective but quite unpalatable. Were it not so critical to have an immediate appearance of fever I would have done with it forever. And now, Watson, I believe you are wondering why I felt the pressing need to masquerade as a desperately ill patient."

"The thought had crossed my mind, yes," I agreed sardonically. Holmes's eyebrows raised at my uncharacteristically cross tone but I offered no apologies. To be interrupted during sensitive activities was one thing; to be interrupted for a ruse that frightened me half to death was another.

"I _had_ expected the hotel doctor be to be called," he offered mildly by way of an apology of his own. "In fact, I preferred it. I had no desire to tear you away from your slumber" – here I must have made some noise of ironic amusement for Holmes added -- "truly, I did not. Moreover, I respect your medical abilities too highly to think I might have fooled you during an examination. As it was, it took you not a minute to realize my symptoms are atypical at best."

"You hoped to fool the hotel doctor?"

"If I could convince him I was ill then I could certainly convince someone without medical training. Why the devil was he not called? Did that dyspeptic lady on the floor above us simultaneously take a sudden attack?"

"Well, he was with another patient anyway," I answered, still fuming. "But who is that you ultimately wish to fool?"

"The murderess," Holmes answered simply. "I need not replicate every symptom of tobacco poisoning, only those dramatic enough to convince her that she has done her job well."

I rubbed my brow wearily. "You are going to try to induce Mr. Kendall's killer to poison you as well?"

"Yes."

"For what purpose?"

Holmes hesitated. I knew it was not in his nature to reveal his plan until the trap was sprung, but I trusted he could plainly see I was in no mood for being put off. "For the purpose of forcing her to reveal herself beyond a shadow of doubt. I am utterly convinced of her guilt but theories alone will not convict her. I need proof so irrefutable even the local constabulary will approve of it."

"That is a rather dangerous course," said I. Once again I was torn between irritation and concern for the exasperating detective.

"My last recourse is to bluff my way into a confession but that is tedious and uncertain work," he admitted. "That is why I am pinning my hopes on a few on a few household edibles and a woman's fearful desperation."

I stifled a yawn. "I wish the best of luck in your endeavors."

Holmes sighed in response. "I knew I should have changed hotels on that first night. Now it is not only your honeymoon I have intruded upon but your slumber."

I had turned to the door but paused at his last words. For a moment I was wildly amused by his erroneous assumption and while I could have enlightened him, I knew far better than to do so. It would only embarrass us both, and Mary might very well murder me for it.

Instead, I strove to keep a puckish smile from my face while I thanked him for his concern. I did not succeed as well as I should have liked, for Holmes looked vaguely puzzled as I left his room.


	9. Chapter 9

_Given that the bet I made with KCS stipulated that I finish this story by last Saturday, I think I have lost said bet. So that'll be one order of coffee with camel-spit for me. Howsomever, I promised myself a while back that I will never again leave a story unfinished. Ergo, a long overdue update. (but still not the LAST_ _chapter.)_

There was private garden at the back of the hotel, well protected against harsh costal storms by a ring of various trees. Within the garden were late-blooming asters, Russian sage, ornamental grasses, and the leafy remnants of summer blossoms, including some rose bushes dotted with crimson rosehips. It was late afternoon and there was a faint nip in the air.

Mary pulled me down to sit next to her on the stone bench. "You look troubled."

"I am troubled," I admitted, keeping our fingers entwined. We had not heard from Holmes all day. On the one hand it was just as well; Mary and I had enjoyed having the day to ourselves. On the other hand, Holmes may have miscalculated in his attempt to elicit a confession or perhaps he had somehow been poisoned like his client's father.

Using that wonderful intuition of women – or perhaps Holmes's own methods – my wife divined my thoughts. "You've said yourself that Mr. Holmes has a habit of disappearing for hours without a word as to his whereabouts. And you have both faced more dangerous criminals than one mere poisoner."

"And if something has gone wrong?" I asked, more out of playing devil's advocate.

"If he needed your assistance he would have asked for it."

"Unless he was somehow rendered incapable of doing so."

"I cannot see Mr. Sherlock Holmes being so foolish as to consume any food or drink that he suspects to be poisoned. Can you?" she retorted pertly.

"Perhaps in the name of science, to observe its effects first-hand," answered I, equally good-humored.

Mary laughed and, given the seclusion of our surroundings, boldly leaned towards and brushed her lips against mine. The kiss had lasted but a second or two before there was a crash of crisp, dead leaves being trampled underfoot. "My word, Watson, you can be harder to track down than – "

Mary and I hastily separated and turned to glare at the callous oaf who had chosen that particular moment to join us. My annoyance lessened only a fraction when I beheld Holmes flushing a deep red that rivaled the color of the rosehips.

"I'm intruding," gasped the detective, apparently frozen in place.

"Yes, you are," I agreed before I could help myself. Mary's hand clenched around mine almost painfully for half a second. As Holmes ducked his head and spun on his heel, her grip tightened further and she jerked our hands in Holmes's direction. Finally, the angle of her eyebrows and the sharp inclination of her head left no doubt as to her intentions.

When still I hesitated, Mary sprang to her feet and called out an anxious, "Mr. Holmes!"

My friend paused and half-turned towards her.

"Are we to understand that the case has been brought to a successful conclusion?"

Holmes drew a breath and his gazed flickered towards me, questioning.

I gestured vaguely. "The interruption has been made. You might as well tell us your news." My words were not as gracious as they might have been but I trusted Holmes to find them more convincing than a flowery declaration. (I also trusted that my tone conveyed the proper amount of chagrin at my rudeness.)

Thus invited, Holmes returned to the clear and leaned against the nearest rowan, pulling out a cigarette and a match. "It was a satisfying little problem," he conceded, "one that might serve to instruct any future students of criminal study. And, of course, there some unique details to it."

"Who was the poisoner?" I asked. "Your immediate suspects were your client's sister, the maid, and the cook."

"Quite so," answered he with a cryptic smile. "But I would not wish to insult your intelligence by depriving you of a chance to deduce for yourselves who poisoned Mr. Kendall. Besides which, it would be telling the story out of order and you know my views on that."

I repressed a sigh. Holmes had an unfortunate tendency to theatrics. I also suspected it may be his method of revenge for his brief moment of embarrassment just moments before. Whatever his reason, my curiosity was overriding my annoyance. Mary, too, peered up at him eagerly.

Holmes blew out a thin stream of smoke and began. "I waited until late afternoon to pay a call on the Kendall home. Upon my arrival I announced to one and all that I not only did I know the identity of Mr. Kendall's killer, I had found irrefutable proof. Naturally I was pressed to surrender up this information, which I firmly insisted belonged solely to the police. Those poor fellows do not need a private consulting detective hoarding the credit after treading over their crime scenes, after all.

"I let it be known I had written down the details of the solution for the police's files and that the document was in the breast pocket of my jacket. Moreover, I had only stopped by to let the household know no one was to leave the premises until the police arrived, which I anticipated to be within the hour. Mr. Kendall Jr. immediately insisted that I stay for tea, as I had prompted him prior to my visit.

"Naturally I demurred. I needed to make the train back to London; the police were waiting for my evidence; I feared my preference for coffee over tea would prove an inconvenience; so and so forth. At last Miss Kendall all but demanded I stay for tea and I politely acquiesced to the lady's wishes."

"Was that wise?" Mary broke in. "Obviously you survived the encounter but how great was the risk?"

"It was a calculated risk," Holmes allowed. "I lessened the risk considerably by not letting a drop pass my lips, apart from that concoction of my own making." He shot me an amused glance. It was followed by a perplexed look from my wife.

"I will explain later," I assured Mary. "Go on, Holmes. How did you manage to swallow the rosemary essence and take a mouthful of that egg-coffee mixture without anyone noticing?"

"My client admirably rose to the occasion. At my signal he created a diversion for the sake of his sister and that is when the deed was done. Perhaps five seconds later I dropped my cup and went into what I have been assured by a medical professional is a convincing fit of convulsions. Accompanied, of course, by foaming at the mouth and a high temperature."

"Was Mr. Kendall Jr. alerted to that portion of your plan?" I asked shrewdly.

He gestured airily with his cigarette. "If I had, his cry of alarm and dash for help would have been unconvincing. No sooner had he departed than I felt a lady's hands upon my person. I must confess, however, it took her longer than I thought to extract the false document in my pocket."

"Who was it?" I demanded.

Holmes smiled. "I could not know for sure with my eyes closed but the lace at her cuff when I grabbed her wrist was certainly tell-tale."

"Miss Kendall!" gasped Mary.

"Quite right, Mrs. Watson," nodded Holmes. "Her shock at my rapid recovery was equaled only by her genuine alarm when I took the attack."

"She was genuinely alarmed? Then she had not tried to poison you after all," said I.

"No," Holmes smiled, "she had not."


	10. Chapter 10

Having thrown both my wife and myself into confusion, Holmes continued, "However, Miss Kendall was not about to throw away an opportunity fate had offered her with my felicitous 'illness.' "

"That smacks of a guilty conscience," I commented, though I could not see what Miss Kendall had to be guilty about, if she were not the villainess of the case.

"To be fair," Holmes amended, without agreeing or disagreeing with me, "it is possible that no one attempted to poison me. The coffee Miss Kendall offered may have been perfectly safe to drink but I was not about to test that theory under any circumstances. I may take occasional risks with my health but I am not foolish."

"If Miss Kendall is innocent, why did she try to steal the document from you?" asked I, bypassing any comment on his last statement. "Was she trying to protect the true murderess?" That, I felt, hit at the very heart of the mystery.

My friend shook his head. "She was trying to protect herself. I never said she was innocent, Watson, only that she had not attempted to poison _me._ Think. The poisoner has in her possession a deadly substance of a most thick and viscous nature. She knows it will dissolve, or at least soften, in a very hot liquid but that will take some time to accomplish. Slipping the tar into a coffee cup a few seconds before handing it to her victim will not be sufficient time."

"The tar would have had to be added to the coffee in the kitchen," Mary hazarded slowly. "Perhaps even brewed with the coffee."

"The cook, Mrs. Bennett, brewed Mr. Kendall's coffee separately because his preference for a strong cup," I concluded. "It must have been she who killed Mr. Kendall, but why?"

Holmes held up his hand, blue smoke wafting through the air from the movement. "A moment before we begin the topic of motive. It was Mrs. Bennett who did the actual poisoning, that much is true, but how did she come by the poison to begin with?" It was not a rhetorical question and he took another draw on his cigarette while he waited for our responses.

"You said the poison was rendered our of Mr. Kendall's cigars in the garden," I answered slowly. "Essentially, it was brewed and Mrs. Bennett has already proven she is adept at such things."

"But when would she find the time to do it?" Mary wondered aloud. Holmes raised an eyebrow at her and though she colored faintly, she continued. "That is to say, the method by which the poison was created sounds somewhat complicated and lengthy. Mrs. Bennett may have found the time between her duties but I personally do not find it likely."

"Then, too, consider the location where the poison was produced," Holmes added.

"The garden," said I promptly. Then a thought struck me. "Miss Kendall was caretaker of the house as well as the grounds. She undoubtedly spends more time in the garden than anyone else." I paused, aghast at the implications.

"It was the two of them together," whispered Mary, her face paling. "Miss Kendall _and_ Mrs. Bennett. How horrible!"

Holmes shrugged, though the gesture was not without sympathy to my wife's distress. "A woman alone is a capable and devious creature. Two women working towards the same end create a formidable force indeed. Fortunately, I can say with assurance the maid Charity Wilson is innocent of any wrong-doing, save perhaps gossiping out of turn."

"I take it the perennial motive of greed was behind the murder," I replied, striving to turn the topic from the untrustworthiness of women back to the case. I did not like to test the limits to Mary's patience of forgiveness, no matter how hard it was to reach those limits. "So long as the will remained unchanged they stood to inherit, rather than Mr. Kendall Jr. Unfortunately for him, he made the most convenient scapegoat and so they strove to cast suspicion on him."

"There is also the perennial motive of revenge," extrapolated Holmes, finishing his cigarette and crushing the stub of it underfoot. "Miss Kendall, despite her words, greatly resented having to play nursemaid to her father while the prodigal son was out accumulating his own fortune. Despised both the Kendall men, I daresay."

"And Mrs. Bennett?"

"I must fall back on theory where Mrs. Bennett was concerned, but I believe Miss Kendall convinced her it was better to chance murder than to chance it that my client had indeed reformed his ways. Fear, and the aforementioned greed, was what swayed her."

"They have been arrested?" Mary asked.

"Yes, I sent the local constabulary to up the house once my client returned with a very out-of-breath physician in tow. I had every confidence two able-bodied men could prevent two women from leaving the premise for a quarter of an hour."

"What was Mr. Kendall's reaction to seeing you fully recovered from your 'poisoning'?" I could not resist asking.

"He was rather taken aback at first," Holmes allowed. "Other matters quickly proved to be more pressing, however."

"The shock of the revelation that his father was murdered by his sister and the cook, you mean," Mary put in softly. Already her sympathetic instincts were aimed at the surviving Mr. Kendall and I surreptitiously grasped her hand.

Holmes merely smiled at her with all the gentleness he could employ when interacting with the fairer sex. "Not all my cases conclude in accordance with my clients' wishes," he replied kindly. "Sometimes I am the only satisfied party at the conclusion of a case. That is the risk to solving mysteries; not all answers are desired ones."

Mary nodded though she looked far from consoled. I wondered if this aspect of Holmes's work might affect her opinion that I should continue to assist on these cases. Nevertheless, I should not wish to deceive her in any way. This was especially true when it came to dangerous situations. If I were not honest with her, how could I expect Mary's trust in return?

Holmes contemplated a second cigarette before deciding against it and returning the case to his pocket. "And so, as the police have no need of further assistance, I shall take my leave."

"Right now?" I asked in some surprise.

"This evening, at any rate. The latest train to London departs at 7:20 and Mrs. Hudson has already been warned of my impending arrival. I have but to pack."

I rose from the bench. "You needn't leave so quickly on our account."

"Thank you," said he, "but the case is concluded. Lestrade hinted before I left that he might have a problem or two that demand consultation, and it would not do to leave the official force to their own devices for too long."

"It was good to see you. The case was really no great inconvience," I replied sincerely, beginning the brief exchange of departing cordialities. Once concluded, Mary and I watched Holmes stride out of the garden towards the hotel. Only when he was out of sight did we return to our former positions on the bench.

Mary took my hand. "Did you mean what you said," asked she, "about the case not being inconvenient?"

"Certainly. Although I cannot deny his presence was a detriment in certain situations." At that I resumed the kiss that had been interrupted.

She immediately pulled back. "What if Mr. Holmes returns?"

I shrugged callously. "Let him watch. Perhaps it will prove instructive."

"John!" Mary remonstrated, laughing.

"I don't think there is any danger of Holmes returning here," I relented, "but if it still concerns you then I suggest we retire to the privacy of our room."

"It does concern me," she replied far too gravely to be serious. "And I think retiring to our rooms would be an excellent idea."


End file.
